


What is it that you want, Mr. Holmes?

by Beyla



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Hidden Desires, Lovers to Friends (?), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-14 12:41:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beyla/pseuds/Beyla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The British Government visits the Detective Inspector...</p>
            </blockquote>





	What is it that you want, Mr. Holmes?

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've never written anything before other than academic papers. No short stories, no fanfics, nothing.  
> But this bit of dialogue came to me today and I decided to go with it. At this point, I don't know if it will be a one-shot or a portion of a longer story...It also wasn't beta'd or brit-picked, but if anyone is interested in working with me I'd love the help and someone to discuss some Mystradian details with!

Greg sighed, scrubbing his hand through his hair as he moved to stand in front of the window. This was the eighth night in a row that his work day stretched onward into period he deemed the “I’m not getting paid enough to deal with this shit” hours. The case he had been working on was no closer to a resolution than it had been when his team got the call on Tuesday. But, finally admitting defeat, he had called in Sherlock.

Sherlock Holmes – that insufferable, brilliant, gangly irritation that managed to make Greg want to both punch him in the face and clap him on the shoulder in admiration. And then buy the skinny prat dinner. Hopefully, he thought, with a huff of self-derision, by bringing his own personal fount of insults on to the case, at least the suspects would be identified before he watched the sun set on yet another day.

Still, he had to admit that his current view of the city lights below him was lovely…

The sound of his office door opening brought Greg out of his reverie. Glancing up into the window’s reflection, he clenched his jaw as he saw Sherlock’s brother stroll across the threshold looking as if he had every right in the world. Arrogance, swagger, and power… those were the adjectives that immediately leapt to mind every time Greg had to deal with Mycroft Holmes. It was one of the first things that Greg and Sherlock had agreed upon…his brother was a berk. A handsome one, if Greg were forced to admit it, a dead sexy one if he were forced to be perfectly honest with himself, but a berk nonetheless.

It wasn’t the Greg didn’t understand Mycroft’s concerns about Sherlock. Hell, he had them too. Sherlock was a loose cannon, all brilliance and flair and self-righteousness with nothing but the humiliation of a none-too-distant cocaine addiction to take the edge off his hubris. It was the fact that Mycroft had an air about him that reminded Greg that he was nothing more than an unwashed peasant in the elder Holmes’ eyes. Someone whom Mycroft thought would simply bend to his will and then thank him for allowing Greg the opportunity to do as he was bid.

It was irritating to him that his body didn’t seem to be of the same opinion as his mind. No. Of course not. Greg’s body was of the firm opinion that he should grab the imperious sod by that impeccable Windsor knot and snog the hell out of him. And then proceed to strip off each of those finely tailored layers and bend Mycroft Holmes over his desk. The conflict between his mind and his body made it extremely difficult for Greg to hold a conversation with Sherlock’s brother without devolving into a stuttering mess of frustration and arousal.

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes as he watched the man in question push the door shut with the tip of his black umbrella in the reflection, Greg steeled himself as Mycroft moved forward into the office. Without bothering to turn from the window, Greg squared his shoulders and met Mycroft’s gaze.

 

“You do realize that it is far too late tonight for me to have to deal with you too, don’t you?  
Did I do something to piss off the universe that it chose to inflict both you and Sherlock on me in the same twelve hour period?”

 

A raised eyebrow. That was it. That was all Greg got for his defiant little fit of pique. Not a pause, not a “pardon me for intruding.” Nothing. Just a single raised eyebrow as the man Sherlock referred to as The British Government sauntered into Greg’s personal space. Not close enough to be deemed wholly inappropriate, but certainly closer than one would normally stand to a casual acquaintance. Close enough for Greg’s body to begin insisting that it wanted to take a more active role in the proceedings.

Stifling a frustrated groan, and shaking his head with a firm reminder to his libido that it did not, in fact, have a vote in anything that was going to occur, Greg turned and faced Mycroft.

 

“Fine. Right then. Why are you here? What is it that you want, Mr. Holmes?”

 

A glimmer of amusement in those slate grey eyes. A nearly imperceptible quirk of the lips. Greg felt himself holding his breath, waiting for the undoubtedly scathing remark that was to be aimed in his direction, as Mycroft stepped forward, moving into his space. He clenched his hands and forcefully reminded himself not to step back, not to let Mycroft have the satisfaction of making him uncomfortable with their proximity. He could almost feel the heat of Mycroft's gaze as he raked his eyes up his body before leaning in towards his ear.

 

“I want to fuck you.  
Harder than I should.  
Rougher than I should.  
I want to see you on your knees…  
My fingers digging bruises into your hips as you bite your tongue to stem the whispers of ‘Please’ and ‘More’ and ‘Harder.’  
To see you arch your back as you come, my name broken on your lips.  
To hear your breath hitch as you feel me pulse inside you..."

"That is what I want Detective Inspector.  
And it’s also what you want..."

"The problem you face, however, is that you have no idea how to go about getting it.”


End file.
